


From the ashes of a mad, mad world

by ZenzaoDLP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, POV First Person, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 09:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18134096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenzaoDLP/pseuds/ZenzaoDLP
Summary: Six years after the Muggles finally discovered that magic was real, six years after all discourse descended into open war and nuclear bombs at last obliterated both societies to the barest essentials, and Harry Potter, one of the last survivors of the wizarding world, must make his way into the remnants of Diagon Alley in search of the last wand-maker, Garrick Ollivander, if he is to have any hope of salvaging their broken society.But Harry is not the only one to have heard rumor of Ollivander. In the long aftermath of the Wand Withering, there are others just as eager to reclaim a foothold over magic. And even if they can reach the wand-maker, there is no guarantee that anyone will walk away alive if the goblins holding Ollivander hostage have anything to say about it.





	From the ashes of a mad, mad world

Where were you when the world fell apart? When the Muggles at last went mad? I was seated behind my desk of four years, reviewing reports of another burgeoning goblin rebellion. Word came in like a whirlwind that gray afternoon, the ashes of every fireplace in the Ministry blazing to life-- "The Statute has fallen. Obliviators are overwhelmed. Proof is spreading."

One week later, there wasn't a settlement on Earth that had not realized the truth. The power of Muggle technology had finally caught up with magic, and the fallout came in more ways than one. 

After a month, civil discourse had broken down with the governments. It was inevitable that one nation or another would finally succumb to anarchy, and like a wildfire, that chaos spread across their neighbors, and _their_ own, until less than six months later, we were at total war. We could have won. But we tried, right to the end, to avoid killing any more people than we had to. We unwittingly gave the Muggles enough terror and time to turn to nuclear holocaust as their final trump card.

It was two in the morning, that cold night in the middle of October, when the world burned to cinders, and no amount of magic could right the waves of radioactive dust that consumed the land, seas, and skies above. Most of the global population centers were lost. For every Muggle which died across the world, the cost was far higher for the smaller magical communities forced to emerge. Friends, neighbors, allies, foes; the waste made no distinction in the end. The death toll had never been higher for either society.

A handful of places throughout the United Kingdom endured. Hogwarts, of course, being among the densest magically potent domains ever established. Portions of Diagon Alley shielded by the same. The deeper floors of the Ministry, before the Unspeakables up and sealed the rest away.

But on the whole, it ended that night. Millennia washed away by twenty minutes of Muggle flames. 

When the first explosions hit England, I was issuing commands on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, trying to rally our allies toward the safety of Hogwarts. I was among the lucky handful of survivors. I woke in the Hospital Wing there at the school two days later, unable to understand just then that my days as an Auror were over.

We hadn't realized how badly the fallout had affected magic until we tried to communicate with one another properly, to travel, and to reach out across distances that had once been a tiring set of disapparation jumps. It was as if a great, impenetrable barrier has been erected overnight. 

Portkeys faltered in mid-climb. Brooms disintegrated on the irradiated winds, if you were foolish enough to brave them. Splinching occurred as you started into the infinitesimal gap and were shunted back a beat later. Our numbers dwindled even closer to the brink of total extinction.

And then... it hadn’t even been a month since we thought the war had finally ended when the _Wand Withering_ began. Our very instruments of purpose suffered the same fate that the brooms had, and we were fools to have ignored the lesson learned already, to have not made any preparations.

That marked the true fall of the magical world, and the final victory of the Muggles, for without our wands we were reduced to their level-- and worse. This had become _their_ world, _their_ failing technologies that somehow endured the blasts, and any wizard who hadn’t had a proper grounding in the Muggle world simply couldn’t adapt to these new times of scavenging amongst the refuge and scraps. 

Of all the devices which had withstood erosion, very few were magical in nature. I could count on one hand how many could be confirmed out of the rumors across the next few years, and one of them I already carried; since leaving the grounds behind, the ancestral Peverell cloak has proven to be my most closely guarded possession.

If only I could have said the same thing about the elder wand tucked away behind Hogwarts’ ancient defenses. Someone else realized what I did, only far sooner, that the protections of the tomb must have kept it safe from the withering. It was gone by the time that I finally checked, and the resurrection stone was likewise gone from the forest.

Even if I could have used the stone to help draw answers for the questions facing our broken era, I never had the chance, but someone else out there could. Maybe we’d finally meet one day.

When I realized just how little I could still do for anyone standing there beside Dumbledore’s empty tomb, wandless, bereft of most of my friends and family, I finally accepted that I was no longer an Auror. I couldn’t protect those of us remaining. I left Hogwarts behind. 

For the longest time, I’ve only been another wanderer in the great desert that used to be Great Britain, just searching for another bloody sunrise in this godforsaken wasteland.

But not any more.

After five years, I’ve found a purpose; there are signs of life coming from Diagon Alley again. 

More than that, whispers have carried outward that Garrick Ollivander is still alive, holed up under Gringotts at the mercy of the Goblins, fashioning wands from the last surviving cache of wand-wood discovered deep underground.

Tonight, I camp on the outskirts of London inside of a hollowed out house. Tomorrow, I march for the Bank.

End of Chapter One.

**Author's Note:**

> This is intended to be my take on a Mad Max-styled Potterverse, but that is not to say that we won't ever see Max himself at some point down the road. Its more a matter of Max and co being on a separate continent halfway across the world from Harry, and with travel by magic restricted, it would take some other method at this point in time as well as a compelling enough reason for Harry to cross the sea, assuming that he survives long enough to consider such a journey as feasible again. Thank you for reading.


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